


eyes on me

by oisugasuga



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Shadowhunter Chronicles Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Denial of Feelings, Forbidden Love, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 16:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18102050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oisugasuga/pseuds/oisugasuga
Summary: "Uh uh, Iwa-chan. What did I say about keeping your eyes on me?"Iwaizumi shudders. That tone in Oikawa’s voice… it shivers over his skin like nails. It rests like iron on his tongue — cold and bitter.It tastes like blood.The moon hangs in the sky, bloated and red. It stains the clouds crimson. It turns Oikawa’s eyes to fire."Eyes on me."





	eyes on me

**Author's Note:**

> I got the urge to write something like Cassandra Clare's Shadowhunter series so here's some angsty/happy IwaOi for ya'll.
> 
> Just for reference... Iwaizumi and Oikawa are fighting partners (like parabatai) and any romantic love between them is forbidden.

"Uh uh, Iwa-chan. What did I say about keeping your eyes on _me_?"

 

Iwaizumi shudders. That tone in Oikawa’s voice… it shivers over his skin like nails. It rests like iron on his tongue — cold and bitter.

 

It tastes like blood.

 

The moon hangs in the sky, bloated and red. It stains the clouds crimson. It turns Oikawa’s eyes to _fire_.

 

"Eyes on me." 

 

Those eyes - those eyes are like black holes. They suck Iwaizumi in. They turn everything else around them to dust and ash and they burn with the destruction. They shine with a dark, deep, wetness that Iwaizumi imagines comes from somewhere down in Oikawa’s stomach. 

 

He thinks he can see it from here. He thinks he can see it through Oikawa’s eyes — he can see down the wet, fluttering, hollow of Oikawa’s throat and he can see his stomach and he can see that darkness. 

 

So Iwaizumi follows his instructions. He watches those pretty fingers wrap around that knife. He watches Oikawa kneel on hard, cracked cement.

 

He can’t look away.

 

He watches. 

 

He watches Oikawa raise that blade up, up, up and he watches the blade flash like quicksilver in the moonlight and then he watches it swing down in a glistening, horrible arc until it cuts a large, gaping slash across the boy’s neck.

 

The same boy held to Oikawa’s chest. The one digging his dirty nails into Oikawa’s gear and thrashing against him, trying to break free, biting and spitting and cursing.

 

The one they had found down here, in the shadows. The one with eyes that reminded Iwaizumi of a fish — dead and flat and gray. Like he’d been underwater so long that he’d forgotten what sunlight felt like.

 

The blade swings. Oikawa’s face is blank and his eyes burn and Iwaizumi’s gaze is on him and him only.

 

He watches… and he listens.

 

God, that sound is horrible. Iwaizumi listens and he watches and it’s like a choking, fluttering, wet gasp. It’s blood gurgling up and up and up and gushing through that gaping grin carved into the boy’s neck and splattering to the hard, cracked cement.

 

Oikawa stands. 

 

The boy’s body drops to the ground with a wet thump and he twitches and he chokes and he’s dying but Iwaizumi knows it won’t last long. He can already see his fingers disintegrating.

 

"Good job, Iwa-chan. This is the bastard that’s been eating those girls, huh. Mattsun said this was the area and presto, here he was."

 

"Yeah," Iwaizumi mutters. He turns away. He doesn’t need to keep watching to know what happens next.

 

That "boy" will fade, crumpling in on himself until he’s drug back to whatever level of hell he had crawled up from in the first place. He’ll leave nothing behind but the black blood staining the ground and then even that will fade, washed away by the rain Iwaizumi can smell on the horizon.

 

He turns back to Oikawa. The other hunter is wiping his knife off on his shirt.

 

"Are we done then?" Iwaizumi asks, ignoring the crackle and pop as the boy’s body begins to fold, sinking through the ground.

 

Oikawa looks up. The brightness to his eyes has faded now, like it always does. It always goes away once the kill is over.

 

_Eyes on me._

 

Iwaizumi’s lip curls. Cocky bastard. As if Iwaizumi hadn’t been the one to find the trail leading to this abandoned parking lot. Why had Oikawa gotten to do the honor?

 

"Mm, I guess so." Oikawa shrugs. His body language is loose and relaxed — that blank expression is gone and a satisfied grin takes its place. 

 

And Iwaizumi watches still, even though it’s over. He watches even though Oikawa’s already had his fun and it’s over.

 

He watches Oikawa shove his knife back into the holster strapped to his thigh and then stretch his arms over his head, back popping. He watches the markings over Oikawa’s skin flash dark and thick in the flickering streetlights — oily and brackish against his complexion. 

 

He looks washed out, just like the demon had.

 

_Still beautiful though._

 

Even as he thinks it, Iwaizumi knows he shouldn’t. A cold wind blows over his skin — it rattles the metal posts of the streetlights, scatters dead leaves and trash across the weed-strewn ground, and for a moment Iwaizumi wishes it would sweep his mind clean.

 

It doesn’t. It doesn’t stop the thought from flapping and fluttering through Iwaizumi’s head… he’s just gotten better at killing it recently. He’s gotten better at burying it.

 

"Let’s go then," he mutters, turning his back on Oikawa. "It’s freezing. And the cops may show up soon, thanks to the ruckus you caused on the way here -"

 

"Oh, Iwa-chan, I was just having a bit of fun." The drawl of Oikawa’s voice scratches at Iwaizumi’s nerves.

 

He’s tired. He’s dirty. He wants to go back to the Institute and take a long, hot shower and then crawl into bed and not think anymore.

 

"Bit of fun, my ass," he growls, stalking away, and then there are quick footsteps behind him. They’re light and graceful and yeah, maybe a human wouldn’t be able to hear, but Iwaizumi has always been so attuned to Oikawa that he hears everything.

 

He sees everything, even when Oikawa isn’t asking him to watch.

 

He _feels_ everything. The heat of Oikawa’s body when he catches up. The brush of his hand against Iwaizumi’s fingers. The shock that runs through Iwaizumi’s arm because of it.

 

And when they reach the tight, narrow alleyway they had come through to get here, he feels Oikawa’s hands the way he’d feared he would tonight. The way he has before.

 

Oikawa has his fingers twisted in the front of Iwaizumi’s shirt, in the gear he has strapped on over his chest, in a heartbeat. He has Iwaizumi up against a cold, brick wall in an instant.

 

Iwaizumi fights back without blinking because he had known this was coming. He slaps Oikawa’s hands away and then shoves at his shoulders, the two of them stumbling backwards until it’s _Oikawa’s_ back against a wall.

 

A hitched breath echoes in the rain-charged air but whether it’s from Oikawa or himself, Iwaizumi isn’t sure. All he can really hear is the crash of his pulse in his ears anyway. His heart beats like it wants to squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until it bursts and splatters his insides with red, just like the moon.

 

"Fuck, Tooru, don’t." Iwaizumi spits the words out, holding Oikawa’s frame in place, keeping him still.

 

"Why not?" The brightness is back in Oikawa’s face but it’s different from bloodlust. 

 

It’s a challenge. It’s the arrogant tilt of his chin as he stares Iwaizumi down. His eyes blaze with it, with his defiance. His mouth curves with it, sharp and cruel.

 

This is cruel.

 

Iwaizumi can’t. _They_ can’t. It’s not allowed.

 

And yet Oikawa uses every opportunity he has to push and push and push. Pushing and pushing and pushing, always.

 

"You know why," Iwaizumi growls, shoving Oikawa into the wall again and watching his face barely change… watching those bright, bright eyes never leave his own. His chest hurts. His throat aches, like he’s the one who just had it cut open out there, kneeling under a bloodied moon on hard, cracked concrete.

 

Why can’t Oikawa let it go? Why can’t he stop pushing? Why does he always command Iwaizumi’s eyes on him, even when he hasn’t spoken?

 

Even now, Iwaizumi can’t look away. He should let go. He needs to let go and walk away.

 

But his eyes are locked forward. Oikawa’s gaze holds him captive, even when his lips move. Even when he speaks.

 

"Hajime," Oikawa murmurs and no, God.

 

_Don’t say my name like that. Don’t. Please._

 

"Hajime," Oikawa says again and Iwaizumi’s eyes drop finally. His fingers loosen where they’re fisted so tight into Oikawa’s shirt that his knuckles have turned white.

 

_Let go_ , a voice in his head whispers. _Let go._

 

But it’s too late.

 

Oikawa moves slowly. He always does.

 

There are fingers brushing Iwaizumi’s cheek, soft and slow and gentle. Oikawa’s fingers are cool. They’re electric. Iwaizumi tastes iron on his tongue and he realizes he’s biting it, the teeth puncturing his flesh.

 

Oikawa’s fingers tremble against Iwaizumi’s cheek. They drift down, inch by inch, to run down the curve of his neck. The pad of Oikawa’s thumb runs over Iwaizumi’s collarbone, pressing in for just a fraction of a second, harder.

 

"Hajime," Oikawa murmurs one last time. That’s all it ever takes. Third time’s the charm. His voice is low. His words are trapped here, in this tiniest of spaces between them and Iwaizumi feels them against his lips. His voice is addicting. It’s a drug Iwaizumi can’t have but he craves it. 

 

He wants him. God, he wants him.

 

And here, with Oikawa trapped between his body and the wall — with the shadows obscuring them from the harsh white of the streetlights, with Oikawa’s voice in his ears and his heat pushing at his skin — Iwaizumi feels himself breaking.

 

They can’t. It’s against everything they’ve learned since they were children. They’re partners — hunting partners and they can’t. It’s against the Law. Partners aren’t allowed to feel this - this - this ache. They’re already bound to each other, from birth. They can’t have anything more than that. They can’t -

 

"Look at me."

 

Iwaizumi’s eyes snap upwards automatically. 

 

Oikawa smiles, just the barest bit, but it’s weak and watery like he’s underwater and he’s drowning. Iwaizumi feels it. He feels it too.

 

"Tooru, we have to -"

 

"Hajime, please."

 

And Oikawa’s eyes are so, so dark — and Iwaizumi can see down through them, down through the wet and fluttering hollow of his throat, and he can see his stomach and in that dark and damp he can see that brightness. That brightness he aches for all the time now.

 

That brightness that Oikawa only ever shows him.

 

"God." The word slips from Iwaizumi’s mouth like a prayer… and it gets caught somewhere between his lips and Oikawa’s because he can’t take it anymore.

 

He kisses him the way he always does. He crashes into him the way he always has — catching Oikawa’s open mouth with his, hard and rough.

 

And Oikawa pushes into it the way he always will — with that whimpering, whining noise like he’s in pain. Like there’s a knife to his throat.

 

It’s desperate. They’re both drowning after all.

 

It’s desperate but it’s slow, like they’re trying to memorize each other. Iwaizumi is trying to. He’s trying to imprint everything — Oikawa’s breaths, the shape of his mouth, the heat of his tongue, the softness of his skin — into his mind. He’s trying to save it. He’s trying to hold it close, to protect it, to keep it for the years to come.

 

He wants to remember. He wants to remember when this is gone. 

 

He _needs_ to be able to remember when the memories are all he has left.

 

"Hajime," Oikawa breathes again, wet and shuddering against Iwaizumi’s mouth and he pries Iwaizumi’s lips apart. He digs his fingers into Iwaizumi’s neck and he keeps him so agonizingly close and he moves their mouths together deep, like he’s struggling to draw air into his lungs. 

 

Another iron-edged wind blows through Iwaizumi’s hair, raises goosebumps over his skin, but all he can feel is Oikawa’s heat, burning him. All he can focus on is sucking Oikawa’s tongue into his mouth, tasting him, feeling his body shudder under his hands.

 

All he wants is this. All he wants is Tooru.

 

It tastes like blood. Their kisses taste like blood. But Oikawa’s hair is soft — so perfectly soft under Iwaizumi’s fingers, like silk. He twines his hands in it, keeps the other boy close so he can feel his low, throaty moan shiver in his bones.

 

And when they part the moon is gone. It’s disappeared behind the clouds. The first drops of rain patter down and one slithers down the side of Oikawa’s face, disappearing under the collar of his shirt.

 

Iwaizumi’s gaze follows its path.

 

"Eyes on me," Oikawa whispers then and Iwaizumi wants to laugh but he can’t. Not when he knows what he does. Not when he knows Oikawa does too.

 

Not when Oikawa looks so, so sad, trying to hide it under his watery, wavering smile. His mouth is pink. His hair is a mess around his face. His marks seem to sink into his pale skin in the gloom, like they’re going to bury somewhere inside him.

 

And suddenly Iwaizumi hates them. He hates those markings. He hates the ones on his own body, the matching ones.

 

He hates -

 

"Let’s run away."

 

The words freeze Iwaizumi in place… and yet they had come from _his_ mouth.

 

Oikawa’s face goes pale, bloodless. He looks like a boy made of paper — like he’s trapped in black and white, a photo-image stuck in this moment.

 

"What did you just say? Hajime, what -"

 

"Let’s leave." 

 

It’s easier now. Iwaizumi suddenly can’t talk fast enough. The words well up in his throat like blood, gurgling up and up and up and gushing over his teeth, over his lips and splattering to the hard, cracked cement.

 

"Let’s go. We can leave. We can run away and we can make new lives for ourselves. We can — fuck, I don’t know. We can get jobs in a different city. Human jobs. We can change our names. We can -"

 

"Hajime." There’s a palm against Iwaizumi’s cheek and he turns into it and he kisses Oikawa’s hand gently, right in the middle of all of those intersecting lines and grooves and he can smell iron, steel. He can smell blood and the blade.

 

He closes his eyes.

 

He braces himself for the cut. He braces himself for Oikawa to make him see logic, to slash through these futile dreams Iwaizumi’s been clutching at so desperately night after bloody night.

 

It’s not possible. They can’t just - it’s not _possible_. It’s a fantasy, a pipe dream -

 

"Hajime, are you serious?"

 

Oikawa’s voice is low and it breaks but it’s there. It’s not a blade. It’s a hand, still pressed to Iwaizumi’s face, cradling his head.

 

It’s a chance.

 

Iwaizumi’s eyes return to Oikawa’s face and what he sees there settles something deep down in his own stomach. It sets something down there to the same burning brightness he can see in Oikawa’s large, wet eyes and he couldn’t look away this time even if he had wanted to.

 

"Yeah," he whispers. "Tooru. Please."

 

If he had been expecting teasing, it doesn’t come. Oikawa doesn’t make fun of him for saying "please" or for the crack in his voice when he says his name. 

 

All that happens is that Oikawa sighs like he’s been saved. Like some prayer of his own has been answered.

 

This time, when he kisses him — when those pretty fingers wrap around the back of Iwaizumi’s neck and pull him back in — it’s not like he’s memorizing him. Iwaizumi feels it. 

 

He feels it as they part and meet over and over again, as he chases blindly, clumsily for Oikawa’s hot mouth and his wicked grin. He feels it in the groan that shudders from his own throat when Oikawa flips them, shoving Iwaizumi into the wall and running his deft hands down over his chest. He feels it in the slick slide of Oikawa’s tongue and the whisper of his name on Oikawa’s breath and the sharp bite of Oikawa’s teeth when he drags them over Iwaizumi’s lip, pulling, tugging something loose deep inside him.

 

They’re both just here, in this moment. Nowhere else. Just here.

 

And Iwaizumi knows one thing — counting the pulse under Oikawa’s skin, the knobs of his spine, feeling the curve of his hips and the strong push of his legs, tasting the sweetness of blood on his tongue and the heat of his brightness.

 

His eyes will always be on Tooru — only and always.

**Author's Note:**

> Blog --> [Click here!](http://oisugasuga.tumblr.com/)


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